


Hunger Hurts

by connorssock



Series: Prompt Fills [18]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Android Allen, Android Gavin, Android Hank, Angst, Anorexia, Background Nines/Gavin, Eating Disorders, Human Connor, Human Nines, Human Sixty, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Vomiting, background hank/connor - Freeform, reverse au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-06-02 05:17:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19434700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/connorssock/pseuds/connorssock
Summary: For the prompt: Hello, I love your writing and I'm hoping you have a great day and/or week. I was wondering if you'll be okay to write more of Allen60 if that's okay with you. Anything is fine.Which turned into a Reverse AU, Sixty has anorexia, his brothers mean well but are idiots.





	Hunger Hurts

The message had arrived in Sixty’s inbox with little fanfare. He was being assigned a partner, an android at that, courtesy of the higher-ups. Something about it smelt fishy though. The last time he’d spoken to Nines, he had been waxing lyrical about how wonderfully Connor had been getting on with his android partner. Nines himself had started out the whole android partner bullshit, getting himself a GV200 which Sixty wasn’t certain whether he got for sheer practicality or because it was exactly Nines’ type. Then Connor had to go and jump his HK800’s bones and suddenly Sixty was the only sane brother left. He sent a terse rejection response to the e-mail and tried to put it out of his mind.

He had successfully managed to forget all about it by the time he got to work the next day. More office slog which was both a blessing and a curse. At least when there was a mission to prepare for, he got home exhausted and could sleep. But with things being quiet, it gave Sixty a chance to collect himself, get back on an even keel. The mad rush of missions often left him weak at the knees and so tired he could barely get himself home. Those days, he was eternally grateful for self-driving cars.

Whoever knocked on his door was rude enough to not wait for his reply. Sixty was about to grumble at them when he saw Nines step in, followed by what was evidently an android. He sneered in derision.

“That’s not your usual plastic. Break Gavin in two last night?”

“Gavin is fine and well, thank you for asking. This is LN300, your new partner.” Nines sounded annoyingly calm and reasonable which only rubbed Sixty the wrong way even more.

“I already said that I don’t need a partner.”

There was no reply from his brother though he did cross his arms over his chest and stared Sixty down, mouth set in an unimpressed line. Slowly, Sixty rose from his chair and made a point of not looking at the android. He pulled the cuffs of his suit down but didn’t miss the pointed stare shot at them. Anger bubbled through him.

“I am the Captain of the motherfucking SWAT team. I do not need a partner. I do not need an android. If I wanted a mechanical pet, I’d have bought a bloody Tamagochi.” He took a deep breath. “Now take that plastic out of here. I’m older than you and I outrank you. So get out before I throw you out.”

He all but ignored the way Nines pulled himself to his full height. “Don’t make me get Connor involved.”

The threat made Sixty bark out a laugh, “You’d really sink that low?”

“The way I see it,” Nines shrugged and looked at his nails, searching for non-existent dirt nonchalantly, “you either take LN300 as your partner or Connor gets involved and you’ll spend another few months in hospital. He will notice, you can’t hide things from him.”

“OUT!” Sixty roared and pointed at the door. Nines shrugged again and started towards the door.

“Have it your way.”

Sixty let out a growl and pinched the bridge of his nose, “Not you, plastic, you stay.”

The air of smugness as Nines left lingered and Sixty sat heavily into his chair. After a moment he looked at the android who was regarding him with a cool look. Resigned to having a manufactured shadow for at least a little while, Sixty shoved a few files towards him. Might as well have him get to work on the more mundane things, silver lining of the situation and all.

At lunchtime, LN300 excused himself, much to Sixty’s disbelief. Even worse was when the android returned with a sandwich, a brownie and a soft drink 15 minutes later.

“I noticed that your blood sugar levels have dropped steadily over the course of the morning.”

Sixty stared at the sandwich. LN300 didn’t understand. How could he? He was only a machine. Hunger helped Sixty focus. Kept him on track, spurred him on along with the cold. To eat now, when he was working would definitely end badly. Obviously the android had never heard of the fabled afternoon slump. Sixty avoided it by skipping lunch.

Rather than reply, he sent the android a tightlipped smile and pushed the food to the edge of his desk. Surreptitiously, he wiped the fingers he used to move the box on his trousers and returned to his work.

Half an hour later, the stupid android piped up again.

“My scans indicate that you really ought to take a break for lunch.”

“You should keep your scans and your eyes to yourself,” Sixty snapped. “If I had wanted a nannybot to nag me, I would have called Connor.”

When LN300 left the office to file something, Sixty quickly opened up his desk drawer and shoved the food in there. He would deal with it when the stupid plastic wasn’t breathing down his neck.

The issues only mounted when Sixty got ready to leave. As he stood, LN300 got up too with a small smile.

“Just where do you think you’re going?”

“Home. With you. My instructions are to accompany you.” The android had the gall to smile and help Sixty into his coat. A quick pat to his shoulders seemed innocuous enough but Sixty couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being assessed. It made him shiver and jerk away angrily.

“If I tell you to stay here? Or don’t let you into my house?”

“I’m to report to Lieutenant Anderson then,” came the easy reply. “And no, you cannot override that order.”

“You filthy deviant,” Sixty snapped and watched as the LN300 merely shrugged unapologetically.

“Your brothers know you well enough to be aware you’d use an android’s nature against them.”

Snarling under his breath, Sixty led the way home.

It wasn’t that Sixty never had company at home. But he was certainly picky about who was allowed into his sanctum. Usually, it was Connor, Nines or both of them. They both knew that Sixty had a routine at home, needed the comfort of rituals. Unfortunately, LN300 either didn’t know about this or didn’t care.

“Shall I make you dinner?” he asked cheerfully and Sixty rolled his eyes.

“Just sit down and charger out of the way or whatever it is you deviants do.” The bathroom door slammed shut behind him.

Shaking hands set to work on peeling off his suit. He left them in a pile and pulled the scales out from under the toiletries cabinet. Letting out a huff of breath, he stepped on them and peered at the numbers.

60.8kg.

Too much. Not enough to have him reaching for the laxatives in the cabinet but enough for him to look down at his stomach with a disappointed frown. Logic warred with his need for control. Perhaps a dinner of a couple of celery sticks would be enough.

Luck wasn’t on his side. By the time he emerged from the bathroom, swaddled in a fleecy jumper and baggy sweatpants, the smell of an omelette was wafting through the house. It made his mouth water and stomach clench in disgust.

“Considering you hadn’t eaten at lunch, I figured you’d like a nice dinner.”

Not waiting for a reply, LN300 placed a plate piled high with omelette on the table and gestured for Sixty to sit down.

He stubbornly refused and stood a few steps from the table, shoulders angled away from the food as though that would prevent the smells from assaulting his nostrils. “I already had lunch and I told you not to make me dinner!”

Part of Sixty noted with disappointment and relief that the celery formed part of the omelette. There went his dinner plans but with nothing else that he deserved, he could avoid dinner altogether now. If only LN300 could get with the program.

“The lunch that began going off in the drawer of your desk? Or the imaginary one you tell everyone else you’ve had?”

“Just get off my dick already,” Sixty snapped. Glumly he threw himself down onto the chair and scowled at the plate.

“Finish half the plate and I won’t tell Connor.”

The fork felt heavy in Sixty’s hand. His mind raced. Fat. Fat. Fat. 60.8kg. Fat. He needed to feel the fat burn from his stomach, let the coldness of hunger melt it away. Not force grease laden mouthfuls down his throat. However, the threat of Connor was enough to force his hand, he speared a piece of celery and tried not to cough around the bite. Swallowing it was a herculean effort and Sixty almost choked on it.

“Taste good?” LN300 asked with some cheer. Sixty nodded without looking up, eyes watering as he tried to find another piece of celery in the mound.

60.8. No, probably 60.9 if not 61 now. His breathing came short and sharp but LN300 seemingly ignored it in favour of turning to clear up the mess he’d made in the kitchen. Four mouthfuls later, Sixty pushed the plate away.

“I’m too tired, put this out for the strays in the garden. I’m going to brush my teeth and head for bed.”

He tried not to rush to the bathroom but his throat was tight, barely holding back the gagging as he tried to breath around the grease he could feel clogging his mouth. The door closed and he was dropping to his knees in front of the toilet. Once done, he rinsed his mouth, stripped again and stood on the scales.

60.9.

Too much. Almost 61 and then he couldn’t be Sixty anymore. He wouldn’t be himself. His hands were reaching for the medicine cabinet when a knock on the door made him jump.

“I will use your couch to enter stasis when you’re safely in bed.”

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” Sixty snapped in anger and ripped the door open when the replying nope’s ‘p’ was popped so casually. “Just get on the fucking couch LN300. You’re an absolute waste of space. Even your name is more breath than you’re worth.”

“Touche, Sixty."

Sixty saw red and snarled, arm raised and ready to put LN300 in his place. Only, his vision began to swim and his raised hand ended up clutching at the doorframe as he caught himself. The usual cold was replaced by a sickly heat, too warm and his jumper stuck to his back from the sudden sweat which coated his skin. He wavered and closed his eyes against it. This was nothing new, he could deal, if only LN300 would just fuck off already and let him claw himself back together.

Arms wrapped around Sixty and he tried to fight then off but everything felt heavy. There was loud music pounding in his head which he couldn’t focus beyond. It was all consuming. Hands were somewhere on his body but he couldn’t for the life of him say where exactly.

Blinking his eyes open, Sixty noted that he was on the floor, half in the bathroom, half out. His feet were resting on the stool from the bathroom and unlike before, there was no thumping headache from where he hit himself on the way down. With a groan, Sixty turned and caught sight of the android sitting next to him. Immediately, he was defensively narrowing his eyes and struggling to get up.

“I wouldn’t get up just yet,” LN300 warned him but made no move to stop Sixty. Out of sheer spite and determination, Sixty pushed himself up and ignored how the world wavered in and out of focus. “You’re even worse than they warned me.”

“What’s that meant to mean?” Sixty spat.

“Gavin and Hank gave me a quick rundown on handling an Anderson. Connor and Nines were also rather helpful in preparing me for what I was going to be dealing with.

“Traitors. I’m surprised they didn’t give you a name while they were at it.” That was a much safer topic to argue over. His brothers’ meddling ways was something Sixty could always go back to when he wasn’t feeling so washed out.

“They did. You just never bothered to ask.” There was no reproach in LN300’s voice but Sixty still felt like a small, insignificant stain in the patchwork of life all of a sudden. He heaved a sigh and let his eyes slip shut, cradling his head on his knees. In a moment of absurdity, he marvelled at how well his knees fit against his eyesockets.

“I’m too tired for this, I’m going to bed,” he muttered and heaved himself up off the floor. His android made no effort to help him up. He did, however, follow a few steps behind Sixty. Even had the gall to step into the bedroom and pull the weighted blanket over him, effectively tucking him in.

“You’re welcome by the way,” LN300 murmured. “And my name is Allen.”

Steadfastly, Sixty ignored him and turned onto his side. The soft hunger was back, soothing in its presence. He did his best to fall asleep and not think about how nice it was that for once, his head wasn’t pounding with a potential concussion from falling down.

There was a certain amount of frustration when Sixty woke up the next morning and Allen was still there. However, there was a pang of relief when there was nothing cooking or already served on the table. Doing his best to ignore the android, Sixty grabbed a banana from the nearly empty fruit bowl, mashed it viciously with a fork before pouring 0% fat yoghurt over it. He swilled the mixture around a little more before using the fork to quickly shovel it in his mouth while he stood over the sink. In the matter of 30 seconds it was all gone and he swallowed down a belch as his stomach turned.

“Are you working today?” he finally addressed Allen.

“I work when you work, partner.” The cocky answer made anger rush through Sixty’s veins but he reeled it in. It was training day today, he was going to get a chance to work his frustration out later.

The training room smelled like a curious mix of gym, sweat and deodorant. It made Sixty pause in the doorway for a second and look over it all. One corner had weights and other gym equipment, another corner had a boxing ring with a series of punching bags on the side. All along one wall were mirrors and a bar. There had been a memorable training day when a local ballet dancer had come in to put them through their paces. That was a session Sixty had enjoyed, no bursts of energy but rather, a constant, steady pressure to keep going. It was a test of endurance as much as anything else and he’d excelled at it.

His team were already dotted around all over the place. Sanchez and Jones were beating the shit out of each other in the boxing ring while Horner was running laps around the room. She waved at him as she passed and he nodded back, tempted by the silent invitation to join her. Ignoring Allen, he fell into pace next to her and they jogged silently.

At lunchtime, when everyone had piled into a circle in the middle of the area, Sixty made a show of eating.

“Good of you to join us mere mortals,” Wilson snickered around a mouthful of sandwich. “Usually you’re so busy, you can’t even find the time to eat lunch with us.”

“When you get your own captain’s chair, you’ll understand,” Sixty replied and took a small bite of his salad. Word soon turned to Allen, who fielded most questions with a mix of warm humour and open honesty. He was an immediate hit with the team and was invited to Horner’s birthday meal the following week.

After lunch was over, people filed out of the training room. Sixty was last to leave, desperate not to look at himself in the mirror. He hated how obvious it was that he’d eaten, his stomach bulged with the food in an unseemly way. Despite not wanting to see it, he was compelled to look, to smooth his baggy t-shirt down and stare at how disgusting it all looked. He’d work out a little more in the evening to counter such a big lunch.

What wasn’t part of his plan was for Allen to flop down on his couch in the evening and pull him down next to him.

“Want to watch a film?”

The question was so out of the blue and so human, Sixty didn’t know how to react initially. Some captain he made if something as stupid as a mundane question from his live-in robo-nanny took him off guard. He seethed quietly even as Allen easily turned the TV on and started playing some stpid film. Despite his best attempts, Sixty found himself lost in the film, eyelids drooping as time wore on. He didn’t even realise he had fallen asleep until his alarm woke him in the morning.

In a way, it was scary how seamlessly Allen slotted into his life. There were no snide remarks or pointed stares when he left food untouched or only moved it around on his plate before dumping it in the garden for the wildlife. Nor were there impatient sighs, eyerolls or threats of being carted off the hospital if he didn’t improve his attitude. Occasionally, there was perhaps a hint of sadness in Allen’s eyes but that disappeared as quickly as Sixty thought he spotted it. It was nice, not having to hide like he did at work. Allen hadn’t seen him at his worst yet but Sixty hoped that if he fell that low again, he wouldn’t be abandoned.

Dread mounted in Sixty over the course of the week. Horner’s birthday meal was looming and Sixty could feel each passing second draw it closer. On the day itself, he skipped breakfast, knowing that he’d be forced to eat at the restaurant. In the morning, he weighed himself and cringed when the scales already showed 60.2kg. It went without saying that it was going to be a bad day.

He was proven right when at lunchtime, Horner knocked on his door. She approached with a plate in hand and a smile on her face.

“Made this one especially for you. I know you avoid gluten and lactose.” With little flourish, she put the slice of cake down on Sixty’s desk and took a seat opposite him with a piece of cake for herself.

“Thank you,” Sixty managed to grit out through a forced smile. It had been easier to tell people he had a gluten and lactose intolerance. Meant people wouldn’t try to foist food on him as often. He looked out through the open door and spotten Allen glancing at him. There was no escape, Sixty picked up the fork and speared the corner of the cake slice off. He made of show of popping it in his mouth and smiled at Horner around the fork. It hid how his tongue was trying to push the cake out of his mouth and as far from his throat as possible. Forcibly, he swallowed.

“It’s lovely, thanks again.”

He tried to put the fork to the side and get back to work bt apparently Horner had different ideas.

“Oh come on, you need a break from work too. Even Allen’s noticed how overworked you are. Take a break and enjoy the rest of your cake. I won’t tell anyone!”

Even his own spit soured in his mouth at the idea. No excuse seemed to cut it though and Sixty slowly but surely worked his way through the whole slice. His stomach hurt from it. The need to rush to the bathroom and purge was great but he had no time. Instead, he chugged water from his bottle and tried to pretend that all that weight was just harmless water in his stomach.

Somehow, he made it through the meetings in the afternoon. Allen had come by and filled up his waterbottle a couple of times but otherwise left him to his conference calls. By the time the end of the work day rolled round, Sixty was ready to go home. He could have cried when his subordinates knocked on his office door and all but ushered him out to head to the restaurant.

In a way, it was a blessing that menus had to display the calorie count of each meal. It made browsing through them and selecting so much easier. The knowing look Allen shot him made no difference. Nines would have already made a cutting remark while Connor would have simply changed his order for him. Still, when the plate piled high with a salad appeared, Sixty shivered in disgust.

The chatter that went on around him was background noise as he listlessly pushed the leaves around on his plate. People kept asking him how his salad was and he always replied that it was lovely, offered up the chance for others to try it too. A few people took him up on it but even with their unwitting help, Sixty could only force himself to swallow about half serving. His stomach felt heavy, the cake from earlier still made him nauseous. It was a losing battle.

“Excuse me,” he shoved away from the table and tried not to make it obvious he was running for the bathroom. The door had barely closed behind him before his knees were hitting the floor and he retched into the bowl. Tears spilled down his cheeks as he heaved. He hated it so much. The helplessness, the inability to control it all. Sixty cursed his weak will and clutched at his stomach which felt bloated and distended even as his thumb nestled in the hollow under his ribs.

Footsteps approached and Sixty tried to stifle his pitiful sniffles. The door to the stall opened and he didn’t dare glance up, not wanting to see the look of disgust on whoever had walked in on him. A cool hand settled on the back of his neck and someone crouched smoothly next to him.

“I’ve made an excuse for us and settled our part of the bill.” Allen’s voice was soft, soothing. “Let’s get you home.”

Leaving the restaurant was a blur. Sixty was vaguely aware of walking out, huddled against Allen. He was too lost in his misery to care much beyond the moment he lived in. Back home, he was wrestled out of his suit, his armour under which he hid. Nobody could see how disgusting he was underneath all the layers. But Allen could. Allen stripped him, helped pull him into thermal pyjamas and tucked him into bed.

“You have tomorrow off.” With those words, Allen left the room and darkness enveloped everything.

No alarm woke Sixty in the morning. Instead, he slowly blinked awake. Memories of the previous night flooded back and shame flushed through his whole being. He shuffled out of the bedroom and darted into the bathroom, hoping Allen didn’t see him. His morning routine was rounded off by tugging out the scales and, after a fortifying breath, he stood on them and awaited judgement.

60.7kg.

Unacceptable. Especially in the morning. A good day started off at 59.8kg and would finish, at most on 60.2kg. Those days were so rare though. But he had achieved it before. Starting off so heavy, so obese was not good enough. With the day off, Sixty didn’t hesitate in reaching for the cabinet to grab a laxative. His brain stalled as he took in the space where they should have been. The spot was empty, free of dust as if there had never ever been anything there before. Frustration and anger made his lips curl back in a growl and he hurriedly stuffed limbs back into his clothes to march out and confront Allen.

“What the fuck have you done?” he sneered. “You don’t control me. Give them back.”

The fact Allen didn’t even question what “them” was meant he knew exactly what Sixty was raging against.

“No.”

Such a simple, nonchalant answer. It took the wind out of Sixty’s sails. There was no brewing disappointment to rail against, no disdain or air of superiority which he could latch onto and fight.

“Why not?” He was whining but didn’t care.

“Because I will not be a party to your self-destruction through action or inaction.”

It was so different to the usual arguments Sixty had with his brothers. No angry cries of “think of people other than yourself for once”, no hissed “the reason you can’t find anyone to love you is because there isn’t enough of you left to love.”

“I need them,” he ended up saying, no, pleading. “Please.”

“Come sit down with me,” Allen moved to the sofa and patted the cushion next to him.

With nothing better to do, Sixty reluctantly perched next to him. For a few minutes, neither of them said anything.Gradually, Sixty relaxed into the cushions of the couch, let himself ease by degrees into it. He pulled a throw from the back and wrapped up in it, suddenly exhausted despite having slept so much.

“I’m not going to lecture you,” Allen started up softly just as Sixty’s eyes drooped shut. “You know exactly what you’re doing and an argument isn’t going to change any of that. In fact, I suspect it would drive you to even larger extremes. But I cannot sit idly by while you slowly drive yourself to an early grave.”

“I won’t. I know what I’m doing.”

The unspoken “do you?” was left unsaid in favour of Allen pulling Sixty close to his chest. “I know that. And I’m not thinking of extremes such as organ failure. But what if you pass out again and hit your head just so? Or we’re out on a mission and you can’t focus because your body is trying to eat itself alive?”

“It helps me focus. I know what I’m doing. So just give me my bloody pills.”

“Sit with me for a little longer. If you still feel adamant that you need the laxatives in the afternoon, I will hand them over.”

It seemed like a fair compromise. Sixty knew he’d get what he wanted sooner or later. The feelings of bloat and uncleanliness weren’t going to go away just because he waited a few hours. He could spend the morning in discomfort, it wasn’t much different to work anyway. Those thoughts dispelled when Allen let out a very human sigh all of a sudden.

“Your brothers have found out you’ve taken a sick day, they’re coming over this afternoon.”

Sixty cursed under his breath and tried to ignore reality.

It didn’t work. Just after 3pm, there was a knock on the door. He hadn’t dared ask for the laxatives again, knowing that if he took them, his brothers would go ballistic. Instead, he’d kept drinking water which Allen dutifully topped up each time it ran out.

“Sixty,” Nines greeted until he was being shoved out of the way by Connor whole pulled Sixty in for a hug.

“I swear you feel smaller each time I hug you. You’re disappearing, fading from this world.”

As far as greetings went, it wasn’t the worst. Filled more with worry than anger or disappointment.

“I’m still the same, Sixty,” his reply made Connor roll his eyes dramatically.

“You are your stupid metric,” he began and Sixty had a chance to think “here we go again” before it all descended into their usual fight. “I was so worried about you. Heard you were taken unwell at a restaurant last night and now were taking the day off.”

“Isn’t the reason you got me a nannybot was so you wouldn’t have to worry? Where are yours anyway?”

Nines stepped forward, trying to calm the situation. “They’re in the car outside, we didn’t want you to feel overwhelmed. Or that we’re ganging up on you.”

“Let them up. They’re not toys to be left out when they inconvenience you.”

It was the most compassion Sixty had shown the androids. He didn’t want to admit that since Allen had been foisted upon him, his views were slowly starting to soften.

“They’re on their way up,” Allen’s quiet voice interrupted. He’d been lingering at the edge of the room, undecided whether he should ask if the brothers wanted a drink or if he should wade into the mess of their relationship.

A soft knock on the door and both Hank and Gavin stepped into the house. Their LEDs were spinning yellow, much like Allen’s as they caught up on everything that’s been happening.

“So,” Sixty tried to force a smile and push through the awkwardness. “Now that you’re all here, can I offer anyone a drink?”

“Would you have a milkshake with me?” Connor asked with all the innocence of a devil’s advocate.

“I’ll get you one,” Allen stood up with a forced smile. He didn’t miss the look of relief three sets of eyes sent him while Connor scowled and Nines looked indifferent. It was obviously a leadup to an argument they’ve had so often before.

“But making one just for me is too much effort. I’ll only have one if Sixty does too.”

“Low blow, brother,” Sixty hissed.

“Like your weight, brother,” Connor snapped back without hesitation.

“It’s perfectly fine. I pass my health checks each year.”

The argument was brewing and Allen looked at the other two androids who were tense behind their humans.

“Only by drinking 2 litres of water so your BMI shows up healthy.”

Nines stepped in again, “We all know BMI isn’t the be all and end all of judging healthy weight.” He went ignored as Connor and Sixty squared up.

“I couldn’t give a shit about BMI, Nines. Shut the fuck up.” Sixty snarled.

“No, all you care about is yourself! If you had even a single selfless bone in your body, you’d realise what you’re doing to us. We worry about you non-stop. You’re playing stupid vanity games, and for what? I wish I’d never given you the stupid nickname Sixty, Silas.”

“And I wish you’d fuck right off and leave me alone. We’re adults now, Connor. You don’t have to be an overbearing, overprotective, older brother. I don’t live in your shadow anymore. If anything, I’ve outdone you. I’m a captain now! I have my own specialist team. The motherfucking SWAT team. And what have you got to show for all your work?” Sixty screamed back. His chest was heaving and his ears were ringing in the sudden silence. A hand on his shoulder helped pull him back into reality. His stomach cramped, hot tears ran down his cheeks without his permission.

“Fine,” Connor threw his hands up in the air. “See if I care. I won’t even bother coming to your funeral. Waste away and kill yourself. I’m done.”

“Get out,” Sixty’s voice cracked over the words and he pointed to the door. He didn’t care that his sleeve was riding up, showing off the bones of his wrist. Both Connor and Nines had raged about that before, called him “Birdy” despite knowing how much he hated that nickname.

“I’m sure he didn’t mean it Sixty,” Nines tried to placate but it was too little, too late.

“Get out!” Sixty screamed. “All of you!”

Through the tears Sixty stepped forward, fully intent on bodily shoving them out of his house. Even if Nines weighed twice as much as him and Connor had a good bit of muscle to him. It didn’t matter, Sixty had burning rage and humiliation fuelling him. Even if he couldn’t see, whether it was tears or the fact he’d stood up far too quickly, it didn’t matter, he was going to get them out of his home. He felt sick, throat tight even as bile rose up.

Someone stepped around him, blocked his path and Sixty sank to his knees, holding back the gasping sobs. The sounds of feet shuffling against carpet filtered through the haze in his mind. It was impossible to hold back the retch as the door shut and he lost the battle against his stomach. Nothing came up other than bitter bile. It burned, it cleansed. He hated how his stomach hurt, the muscles screamed in protest but he couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to stop.

A warm body crouched next to him, rubbed his back soothingly until Sixty could gasp out a sob. No amount of throwing up could hollow out the place all the misery lived. The retching didn’t draw it out of his body, didn’t make him any lighter, didn’t offer a haven from his sorrow.

“I hate them so much,” he whimpered as he was pulled into strong arms. He went willingly, let himself be tucked against a solid chest. “And they hate me too.

The second part was whispered, voice barely more than a hoarse whimper. He shivered in Allen’s arms, suddenly cold.

“You should leave too,” Sixty’s body shook, “before I pull you into this misery that is my existence. Run as far as you can.”

Instead of replying, Allen scooped Sixty up in his arms and walked to the sofa. With more gentleness than Sixty thought he deserved, he was settled on the cushions and wrapped in a blanket.

“Do you want some water to rinse your mouth?” Allen asked, his hand softly passing through Sixty’s hair, pulling it out of his eyes.

“Please.”

A bucket was brought in, along with a glass of water and Sixty’s phone. He gargled a few mouthfuls to rinse the burn from the back of his throat and bonelessly flopped down. There were a couple of messages on his phone, both from Nines and Connor.

The one from Connor was blunt, insincere in the single word apology while Nines’ were making excuses for all of them. Reassuring Sixty that both he and Connor loved him very much but were worried sick for him. In a way, Nines’ messages were worse than Connor’s.

Allen settled next to him with a soft little huff. After a moment, he fussed with the throws, tucked them around Sixty a little better and eyed up the sofa. There was nothing delicate or subtle in the way he flopped down next to him and pulled him close for a cuddle. From his vantage point, he offered Sixty a sad little wisp of a smile and cocked his head.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked and, for the first time in a long while, Sixty felt something ease in his chest. Perhaps, hope whispered in his ear, he wasn’t as alone as he had thought he was all along.

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, I can be found on tumblr as @connorssock


End file.
